Mc angel

It’s always a pleasure making art for fellow artists. This was commissioned by a friend of the very talented MC Angel. I used symbolic representation of her values and her own lyrics to make this portrait.

Check out her spoken word poetry here:

Ayyy wonda youre an Alien

Introducing Mr.Wondz, one of the dopest up and coming producers on the UK urban music scence, had the pleasure of creating this mural style peice. Based on his indentity and his energy , mr wonds is a colorful creative, but i find a lot of his work to be more than what just hits the surface. I wanted to create a painting that demanded a second look for the producers whos beats demand a second listen!

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heres a track he produced for grime artist cadet in 2015 called ‘slut’

Buried alive 

‘Buried alive’ 

Feelings that had blossomed into something beautiful, thrown back into the undergrowth, like a beam of  light sucked into a black hole. I couldn’t see the picture, you couldn’t play the roll… So we fought what felt right, and turned dawn back into night. We buried our emotions… a thought that has left me terrified. because I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I burried mine alive…and that is such a cruel thing to do, to anything at all…

miss kemet

They would ridicule, they would laugh.

They would stand in her way with envy and wrath.

but she builds pyamids with the blocks they place in her path.

she knows the shadow of the great sphinx could be cast by a scare crow,

and so, her fears would rule her if she didn’t learn to let go…

when she did, miss kemet had become  Pharoah.

 

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“I am not a perfect soul, i am a soul perfecting… i am not a human being, i am a human becoming” -egyptian book of the dead

Beautiful Struggle

so much beauty…you would struggle to see, but be left in awe once you saw it… I watched myself profit from my plummet…

Encouraged  by contagiously courageous condemnation,  inspired by painstakingly painful perspicacity…

What gave me the audacity, to stay, to face it… I had to face it, I could never escape it, through empty glasses, or an overflowing ash tray…the storm always passes, to reveal evermore joyous days…

beautiful cliches, describe all the romantic realizations… I struggle to say…

What gave me the grace, to stay…grateful, humble…to seek not trouble, when I stumbled, to burst only the bubbles, that confined I… My life-style has been ruled by error and trail, so my eye, must Seek truth, until ONE can no longer hide behind Denial…

I changed my mind to find;

The true intentions behind ,the whimsical lies of life, the tranquil amidst the turmoil, the strength in each stumble, the air within the bubble, the relics among the rubble…all that is beautiful within, my struggle

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Peice of my mind 

The mind;

a battle field, for the worrier warrior, who draws the will he wields from his soul sheath, while hiding behind his ego shield.

Fighting for a sense of security, defending a feeling of purity, descending and transcending maturity. An odyssey not for the eyes to see, just time zones redefined by a mind blown, as the worrier fights to align the crown.
The brain;

a vast network of ever growing chains , the worriers bane,as he approaches insane…

Fighting to figure out how to eat love, somewhere in-between the stomach and the heart, torn apart, by hard fought thoughts of heaven and hell, hard thoughts sought out where his conscience may dwell. He may well, free all the great warriors, trapped in his grey cells…

A thought;

The pen and the sword that are equally mighty, that colour and carve the warrior worriers reality…

Fighting for a glimpse of clarity, while fighting reality. A missile from a mile away, a beacon beaming through the darkest day, that of which , could guide the blind , and on its way, destroy every last remaining peace …of mind

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